


morning glory

by imiriad



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imiriad/pseuds/imiriad
Summary: Dreaded mornings, uncertain mornings, mornings that would never come again.





	morning glory

Waking was always an awful experience at home. His once floating senses were relentlessly slammed back into a physical body, thrusting Russell into a new set of circumstances without warning. He had learned to be alert from the very moment his consciousness returned, knew what sounds to listen for and what they meant. The bed creaking with soft moans (keep eyes shut and stop listening), glass shattering on the floor (don't move an inch, don't let him know you're awake), the uneven spray of the shower (get up before it stops and escape without having to make contact). A misstep had the potential to be painful, so Russell never let himself relax there.

Chris's home was a welcome respite, the occasions that Russell stayed for more than dinner. As soon as he awoke on a bed instead of the floor, Russell's mind was running, taking stock of other differences. The mid-dream mumbling of Chris beside him. The sounds of his mother getting ready for work, trying not to disturb him or her son. Russell laid motionless, waiting for the opportunity when Chris was deeply asleep, and his mother had already slipped through the door into the early morning darkness.

It would be entirely permissible, Russell knew, to remain there until Chris stirred and take the bus to school together... Still, he never stayed that long. The apartment, though small and cold, was permeated with a strange atmosphere: a feeling of genuine care that made Russell sure he didn't belong, no matter how warmly he was treated. Before his stomach could twist itself into knots, Russell would crawl out of bed, get ready, and leave.

That's why it was rather mysterious when Russell woke on the floor of Kantera's shop. The usual alarm ran through him as he assessed his surroundings with closed eyes. Kantera's deep, steady breathing. A rotating fan buzzing back and forth. The muffled beginnings of the daily bustle passing through the walls. Instead of anxiety or discomfort, these sounds filled him with relief. Tension eased itself from Russell's shoulders, as he felt the rhythmic thumping of a heartbeat against his back.

"Mmm..." came a lazy moan, behind his ear. "Morning, Russell." Kantera's breath tickled the back of Russell's neck as he spoke.

Russell rolled over, laying halfway on top of Kantera's chest. "Good morning, doctor." It was strange. Though he had gotten good at pretending to be asleep, Kantera seemed to be able to recognize whatever small signs Russell betrayed.

"Ahh..." Kantera turned his head, squinting toward the wall clock—emblazoned with a jade-green dragon. "'Tis already that time, I see. You ought to prepare for school."

Russell said nothing, and buried his face into Kantera's chest. A soft noise came from Kantera's mouth, not quite a laugh, but close to it. His hands wrapped around Russell, linking together gently at the small of his back. "I won't complain if you would like to spend the day with me, however..."

A frown tugged at the corner of Russell's lips. He hadn't been to school yet this week. It was better to show up before he caught any undue attention, as unlikely as it was. "I'll go," he said. His arms crept up, pressing to Kantera's sides. "I just want to stay like this a little longer, doctor." In response, Kantera's shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter. "...What?"

"Nothing." Russell raised his head to stare at Kantera, unwilling to let him sidestep the question. The smile on Kantera's face widened, and soon he confessed the truth, "'Tis simply... unusual for you to say something so adorable."

For some reason, when Kantera said things like that, it made Russell's face grow warm. "That's your fault," he mumbled. More words came out, almost of their own volition. "Being with you does something to me. My chest feels weird."

Kantera held him closer, idly nudging Russell's thigh with his knee as he shifted. "...Spending time with you makes my heart swell, too."

A shudder ran down Russell's spine, slowly spread through his limbs, and wouldn't stop. It wasn't until Kantera was stroking his hair and asking, "Are you alright, young one?" just as gently, that Russell realized he was trembling.

His attempts to suppress the tremor failed, so Russell shrugged his shoulders and offered a shoddy excuse. "I'm a little cold."

Kantera was shockingly talented at seeing through him, but this time, he let the white lie stand. "Allow me to warm you up, then." Grinning playfully, Kantera scooped up Russell's hands in his own and rubbed them together.

Nothing could last forever. Russell knew that. All of these sensations—Kantera's warm breath against his fingertips, the scent of tea leaves on his yukata, their pulses neatly thudding in time with each other—were fast and fleeting. Yet each morning, Russell wished that this little piece of happiness would last a fraction longer, another day.

It broke anyway.

More accurately, Russell destroyed the place of refuge with his own two hands.

He had been skillfully lured there, lulled into a tender peace he'd never meant to get used to by a doctor as cruel as he was kind. It was inevitable from the instant the pitiful plea slipped from Kantera's lips.

Russell didn't regret it. There was no way to return things to the way they'd been. No option to reset or rewind. It was useless dwelling on what had been lost. Though he knew it well, Russell couldn't stop himself from coming back. Just once, he promised himself. He had to see it.

A small part of him hoped there was some sort of magic left there. That even now, it would be familiar enough to comfort him in some way. Maybe it was because Kantera's shop was the only place he'd felt at peace.

The spare key still worked, so Russell pulled the door open and entered the dim, deserted shop. Other than the shelving and other built-ins, everything had been gradually stolen from the scene. Well, almost everything. The gaudy dragon clock still hung in its place, nailed above the second counter. When Russell looked through the rooms where Kantera lived, there were a few, sparse relics that caught his eye. A few dried herbs, carelessly crushed underfoot. The spare sheets he'd used. A few articles of the doctor's clothing at the bottom of his dresser. Kantera's favorite teapot broken into pieces, regarded as worthless trash.

And in the center of the living room, avoided by Russell's eyes the first three times he'd passed through, was the large bleach stain on the worn carpet. He didn't turn his sight away from it any longer, no matter how much his chest ached. Carefully, Russell knelt beside the blotch and pressed his hand to the carpet. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that Kantera had just been lying there moments before. Some nights, it seemed like he had been. That only minutes ago they'd encountered one another, coalesced, concluded.

The quiet shop that was filled with light and comfort had become nothing more than a cast off shell. Russell couldn't bear the silence. The only noises echoing against the walls were his own shallow panting and the thudding of his heart. It was painfully hollow.

Curled up on the spot where Kantera had died, Russell shut his eyes. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't find any lingering trace of warmth.

"It's cold, doctor," Russell said to no one, and hugged himself tight.  



End file.
